


It's Called Being Observant

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Semi-Crack, coffee shop AU, inspired by misha's twitter pic of his cappuccino, numerous non-porny mentions of penises, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the pic Misha posted on his Twitter of his cappuccino.  You know the one.</p><p>AU.  Dean tries to calmly decode the meaning behind the unusual art that barista!Cas leaves in the froth of his cappuccino.  Spoilers: he fails, and Sam can't stop laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Called Being Lovesick

**Author's Note:**

> If you care about details, then it might help you to know some of my thoughts about this universe I've created. In this universe, Cas moonlights as a barista to help pay for his graduate degree. Let's just say he and Dean are about 27.

He doesn’t know Cas very well, despite very much wanting to. All Dean knows for sure is that Cas sometimes moonlights as a barista in the campus coffee shop. 

That’s it. 

Alright, maybe he also knows a few more things about Cas. Like his entire work schedule.

“It’s called being observant, Sam,” he bites out to his brother as they approach the storefront. He adjusts his jacket and resists the urge to duck into a restroom to check his teeth. “See if I’m ever picking you up again.”

He hears Sam snort. “I don’t think you’re here to pick _me_ up, Dean.” 

Dean’s already thinking of what he might say to Cas, so he settles for a halfhearted glare before glancing at his watch in the dimming twilight. 10 ‘til closing on a Thursday. Perfect. 

They stop in front of the door to the coffee shop. The brothers stare expectantly at each other. When neither move, Dean delivers an exaggerated bow. “Please, O princess, go before me,” he says.

When he looks up, smug, he’s greeted with a smirk on his brother’s face. “No,” Sam says simply.

Dean straightens from his bow, dropping his grin. He scratches at his temple, darting a nervous glance through the glass door. No one is behind the counter, but that doesn’t mean Cas won’t walk out from the back room. “Alright, Sammy, come on, just go in.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You go in first.”

“What, are you suddenly scared of caffeine or something, it’s just a fucking coffee shop - Sam, this jacket is _new, don’t touch it -_ “

“Will you just - _ow, let go of my hair!_ ”

“Don’t tell me what to do, fucking _Rapunzel, get a haircut -_ “

They end up in a short-lived scuffle that ends when Sam, taller than his brother since the 8th grade, maneuvers Dean into a chokehold and says, sounding far too pleased with himself, “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend just saw you get your ass kicked by your little bro.”

Dean, who was still vainly struggling to extricate himself from his brother’s hold, stills immediately. He feels his cheeks redden when he slides his gaze toward the counter in the shop and meets the wide, blue eyes of Castiel Novak. “Alright, alright - uncle,” he mumbles to Sam.

Sam relaxes his hold and laughs when Dean steps away and makes a big show of dusting himself off. Dean surreptitiously flips him off as he moves to fix his hair.

Finally, and not without a quick mental pep talk, Dean enters the brightly-lit shop. There are no other customers, which is not uncommon so close to closing. He nears the counter and nods at the dark-haired man behind it. “Cas,” he greets coolly. Sam coughs loudly into his hand.

Cas smiles. “Good evening, Dean. Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says. “Sorry about the - uh, the - thing out front.”

“The scuffle? I wasn’t worried. I understand that your disagreements sometimes require a physical resolution.” 

It’s the sort of sentence that Dean has grown fond of over the past few months. Feeling a little more at ease, he seats himself at the counter. “Yeah, you know, sometimes you gotta put the young ones in their place.”

Cas leans his palms against the counter. It looks like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “To be honest, Dean, it looked like it was the other way around from where I was standing.”

Sam cracks up. Dean feels like he should be embarrassed, but he’s too busy staring at Cas in amazement. “Cas. Did you just make a joke?”

The barista looks surprised. Then he grins. “I think I did.”

Dean stares at the genuine expression of shock on Cas’s face and suddenly understands that he is absolutely done for. He feels his cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so much, but he can’t seem to stop. “That’s cute,” he says.

He means it to come across as a joke, but instead it comes out all wistful and longing and, God help him, fucking _bashful_. Dean sees Sam’s eyebrows rise into his hairline. Cas just tilts his head and stares. Dean’s smile drops. 

There’s a pause. Dean, beet red, is about to beat a hasty retreat when there’s a sudden crash from the storeroom. It breaks the tension, and Cas is suddenly turning around to peek into the other room, where muffled but passionate cursing can be heard. “Gabe?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, little bro,” a new voice pipes up. Gabriel Novak appears in the doorway with a heavy dusting of flour over his person. “There was a slight problem with the - oh, hello customers!” He claps his hands together, sending a cloud of flour into Cas’s hair. “Have you taken their orders, Cas?”

Dean hangs back while Sam orders and pays for their usual. The atmosphere in the coffee shop, while no longer tense, is still awkward. Gabe and Cas shuffle around their workspace in relative silence, though Gabe, oblivious to the situation, does attempt to give Cas a big flour-covered hug. Cas just shakes his flour-dusted head and walks past his brother. 

This causes Gabe’s eyes to narrow in suspicion, and he directs this look toward the brothers. Sam, the traitor, jerks his head toward Dean, who steadfastly studies the ceiling.

A few minutes later, Cas hands the two drinks to Sam. “Thank you, Sam,” he says, trying to catch Dean’s eye. “See you...soon, Dean?”

The hopeful tone in Cas’s voice has Dean’s lungs constricting. He attempts a smile and a wave. “‘Course, Cas,” he says, and he’s relieved to hear that his voice hasn’t betrayed him this time.

Somehow, he makes it out of the coffee shop without spontaneously combusting and/or running into a wall to knock himself out. Sam is silent as they walk to Dean’s car, but Dean can tell he’s itching to say something. “Just spit it out, would you?”

Sam’s eyebrows rise again. “Nothing,” he says, handing Dean his drink. “Just - that was ‘ _cute_ ’”

“Fuck off.”

“And so awkward.”

“Yeah, I was there. Shut up.”

Sam grins as he slips the lid off of his cappuccino. “Aw, look at this, Dean,” he says, showing him the stylized ‘S’ that Cas had doodled in the froth. “Your boyfriend’s really talented.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, though it’s halfhearted and distracted as he wraps a palm around his own lid. He tries not to look too excited about the cappuccino; he’s always maintained that he was purely a black coffee man - nothing fancy - and that cappuccinos were prissy and literally not even American. He only began ordering them when Sam had first shown off Cas’s art; then it was a competition: who got the drink with the more meaningful art? It was silly and adolescent, especially because more often than not, they would both receive simple drawings of leaves or flowers - but Dean enjoyed receiving Cas's coffees; every time he finished decorating, Cas would hand the drink to Dean and murmur, "I hope you like it," with his blue eyes wide and sincere. Dean would duck his head and say, "Thanks, Cas," and surreptitiously snap a picture of the simple artwork when Cas wasn't looking. 

Sometimes, though, like tonight, Cas had more time to personalize the drink. 

Sam nudges him right before he slips off the lid. “Hey,” he says, laughing, “If I got an ‘S,’ do you think you got the ‘D’?”

“Oh, grow up,” Dean tells his brother witheringly. He takes the lid off and squints. The sun has almost completely set, but Dean can just make out the outline of a -

“Oh, my God,” Sam says. His sudden shout of laughter echoes in the darkness of the nearly empty campus. “Oh, my God, _I was right!_ ”

Dean, suddenly feeling very confused, stops walking as he stares down at his cappuccino. Faintly, he asks, “...Is that a dick?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get the next chapter finished and posted by the end of the week. Thanks!


	2. It's Called Being Confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be the last chapter, but Dean and Cas had a little bit more planned for me than I originally thought. 
> 
> Also please note that I am considering this fic to be "semi-cracky" because so far I've typed the word "penis" more than two dozen times in a non-porny way. At this point, there's no way it's retained any sort of natural literary dignity, so. Please enjoy my semi-crack fic.

Throughout the drive to Dean’s apartment, Sam only stops laughing once to frantically gasp at air. Dean would normally be concerned, but the tears of mirth rolling down Sam’s cheeks at Dean’s expense take away any sympathy he would otherwise have for his brother.

It’s only once Dean “accidentally” steps on Sam’s foot as they walk into his apartment that Sam finally gives a great hiccupping sigh. He wipes his eyes with his shirt. “But seriously, Dean,” he says, sniffling his way through the sentence, “I didn’t think Cas had it in him.”

Dean tosses his keys onto the coffee table. “Think you could phrase that a little differently, Sammy?” he asks gruffly.

It takes Sam longer than Dean expects, but it does eventually elicit the desired reaction - Sam’s face twists, like he can’t decide whether or not to be disgusted with Dean, or to start laughing at Dean. Dean doesn’t wait around to find out the outcome of this struggle and takes the opportunity to slip into his bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him. 

He sets his unconsumed cappuccino down on his bedside table and stares down at the drink. It’s gone cold, and the froth has settled into a tacky and disgusting layer over the coffee - but there it is, in all its glory: an unmistakable penis and set of testicles.

He feels his brow furrow as he contemplates this new development in his relationship with Cas - because the relationship has changed, like it or not; a guy doesn’t just draw another guy a frothy penis without irrevocably changing things between them. 

What did Cas mean? Was it just some strange coincidence? Maybe it wasn't a penis but some other lewd, curving cylindrical object? But no, the amount of detail in the drawing - Dean carefully avoids examining the delicate white droplets extending from the tip of the purported penis - seems to indicate that it is indeed what Dean first believed it to be. 

He tries to reconcile the image he had in his head of Cas with the inappropriate artwork on his bedside table. It seems to Dean to be out of character, but Dean’s knowledge of Cas-related trivia is limited. Maybe drawing penile illustrations in froth is a hobby of his. Maybe it’s his idea of a joke.

But no - if Dean knows anything at all about Cas, it’s that his sense of humor is a very special kind of humor - one that flies above most people’s heads, and one that certainly doesn’t include dick jokes.

So does that mean that Cas meant it to be taken seriously? Dean sits down heavily on his bed and massages a temple, considering it.

Was Cas _propositioning_ Dean? Did Cas interpret Dean’s “cute” comment as sexual attraction? I mean, sure, Dean might have gotten an eyeful once or twice over the past half year, and yeah, sure, Dean might have appreciated the sight of a little skin or the roundness of Cas’s ass a bit more than is typically acceptable in public - but Cas is as obtuse as they come! Dean has flirted with him at least half a dozen times, and Cas has never once shown any indication that he understood Dean’s intentions.

But, on the other hand, maybe it finally clicked for Cas with the “cute” comment. Maybe that’s why he sounded so hopeful when he was bidding Dean goodbye. 

But, Dean thinks, staring at his hands, even if Cas does... _want_ him - would he seriously try to communicate that through the froth on a prissy Italian caffeine drink?

That settles it for Dean. Cas is well-intentioned but often blunt in his opinion - if he wanted Dean to know of his desire, he would have said so - with words. Cas may be strange, but he’s not one to beat around the bush - and he’s certainly not the type to send mysterious penis-shaped messages to indicate sexual attraction. 

He lies on his side and stares at the cup until sleep claims him.

 

“He probably meant it as a - you know, as a symbol of manly solidarity.” Even as he says it, Dean knows how absurd it sounds. He winces. It’s the morning after the night of the frothy penis, and he’s sitting with Sam at his tiny kitchen table. He’s clutching a mug of black coffee - tightly, like he’s never been gladder to do so.

Sam looks like he’s recovered from his bouts of uncontrollable laughter from the night before. He only manages a hearty chuckle before saying dryly, “Yeah, Dean. I always send pictures of male genitalia to my friends to celebrate our manliness.” He takes a large gulp of coffee before saying, “Except not, because that’s called _sexting_ , Dean. Castiel Novak is sexting you.” He chortles again, so Dean jumps in before it gets out of hand.

“He’s not ‘sexting’ me, Sam. He’s not like that.”

Sam snorts. “He’s not what, red-blooded?” He takes a moment to think about it. “I mean, he could be asexual… but then I highly doubt he’d be sexting you if he were.”

“He’s _not_ sexting me.”

“Right, because that would mean you have his number, which you obviously don’t - because you’re too chicken to sext him back.”

“What - that doesn’t make sense!”

“Just go see him today.”

Dean mumbles something into his mug.

“What?”

Ears burning, Dean says, “I said _he’s not working today._ ”

“Oh, my - wait, don’t say it - ‘It’s called being observant.’”

“You’re learning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear (I hope) the next chapter is the last! It should still be up by the end of the week. Thanks for the support so far - it's gratifying to know that you enjoy Dean, Cas, and penises just as much as I do.


	3. It's Called Being Absolutely Wrong (and Never Happier)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a lot to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. Thanks for joining me this far! Find me on tumblr as surlybobbies. (It's a sideblog, so I can't follow back as surlybobbies, sorry.)

So maybe Dean lied to Sam. Cas is working, and Dean knows it very well - but Dean doesn’t know if he’s ready to confront the other man for his unfortunate knack for drawing very accurate representations of the male sex organs - so he wanders back to bed and tries to think of something else other than the penis. 

But it’s impossible. Everything inexorably leads to thoughts of the penis in his cappuccino, and just the thought of it sets something unpleasant off in Dean. He doesn’t understand why - he knows what penises look like. He knows what they feel like, too (and a hell of a lot more than just what they feel like.) He’s also been in proud possession of one himself for 27 years. Hell, he could probably fill up a museum exhibit with the amount of penises he’s drawn himself (on desks, test papers, bathroom stalls, Sam’s face.) He also wouldn’t be averse to encountering Cas’s one day - so what gives?

 

“You’re moping,” Sam says to him later, when Dean finally drags himself out of bed.

“Am not.”

“What are you doing then?”

“Trying to enjoy my day off.”

“I think you’d enjoy it more if Cas were here.”

“Do you? That’s nice.”

“Do you want me to get his number for you? Seriously, I’m sure Gabe or Kevin would have it - “

“No, Sammy. Drop it.”

And Sam does, miraculously. Until he doesn’t. Five minutes later, when Dean has just settled down with a beer to wait for the pizza, Sam delicately clears his throat from the opposite end of the couch. 

“You know, Dean,” he says carefully, “When Jess and I started dating - “

Dean raises a finger and thrusts it in Sam’s direction. “Stop it right there; you are _not_ giving me advice on my love life.”

Sam drops the big brother act and immediately starts whining. “Why not, Dean? You obviously really like the guy - “

“Yeah, I really like the guy, Sammy, but - “ Dean pauses with his mouth halfway open; is that the first time he’s admitted that? 

“So why don’t you give it a chance?”

And it clicks - why Dean is so averse to the penis in the foam of last night’s coffee. 

“ _Because_ I really like the guy, Sammy,” he repeats, with perhaps a little more force than is necessary. He drains his beer. “I really like Cas and he’s different and I can really maybe sorta see myself with him. And not just for sex. And that’s really fucking scary for me. Okay?” He gets up before Sam can respond, grabs another bottle from the fridge, and shuts himself in his room.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to have sex with Cas. He does. He wants to make Cas fall apart and forget all of his big words and complicated questions, fall apart into moans and breathy pleas. But he also wants to hear Cas with his big words and his complicated questions. He wants to know about Cas and his opinions on animal conservation efforts. He wants to know about Cas. He wants Cas. All of him. 

And call him old-fashioned, but somehow it doesn’t seem right to even think of building a relationship - an honest-to-God committed adult _relationship_ \- on a penis drawn in coffee froth. It may be okay for some two-week long sex-filled fling (strange, yes, but still okay) - but not for Cas. Dean knows Cas; Dean _likes_ Cas. He _really_ likes Cas, and wants more than just two sex-filled weeks with him; he wants Cas for as long as Cas will have him, really, and maybe sex can be part of that, if Cas is amenable. But if Dean wants Cas, he’s going to make damn well sure it happens properly - and not over some stylized _dick_ in a cup, regardless of who made it and how gorgeous he is when he laughs.

Over the next few days, Dean vacillates between going to visit Cas and staying as far away as possible from Cas - so much so that by the time Sam bodily drags him to the university campus to “talk it over” with Cas, he’s faint with nerves. After all, acknowledging the fact that he’s into Cas in a more-than-sex way is much easier than pursuing Cas in a more-than-sex way.

Eventually, with much pushing and pulling and nagging on Sam’s part, Dean makes his way into the coffee shop, where Sam suddenly and conveniently receives a call from Jess just as the line dwindles, leaving Dean standing awkwardly in front of Cas.

Cas, to his credit, looks completely at ease being alone with Dean, which is more than can be said for Dean himself, who feels disconnected from his body and apt to float away at any moment.

Cas tilts his head and smiles, with what seems to be affection softening his gaze. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean manages to say, and he feels a touch of pride at how his voice doesn’t waver like it wants to. He rubs his jaw and scans the menu just for something to do, though the words look jumbled and foreign.

“The usual?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure.”

Cas smiles one more time, large and gummy, before turning away to ready Dean’s cappuccino, all long lines and rough hands. Dean settles onto a chair at the counter and tries not to fidget. He feels too warm in his jacket. 

Cas is in a good mood tonight; he hums tunelessly to a pop song playing in the background as he works. Dean watches. His hands itch to reach out and touch - to press a hand to the small of Cas’s back, right where his apron strings meet, or to the curve of the back of his neck. To fit a kiss on his shoulder, to press another to the tune falling from Cas’s mouth.

He’s not aware that he’s staring until Cas lifts his eyes to say something and stops mid-sentence to tilt his head. His eyes grow wide in puzzlement. “Dean?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean mumbles, coloring. “You were saying something?

“Oh, nothing,” Cas says, before smirking and turning away, “I’m just finishing the design on your drink. I think you’ll like it.” 

The way he says the last bit has Dean gripping the counter in anxiety. Is Cas going to hand him another penis? Two penises? Two penises locked in a passionate embrace? 

When Cas turns to him a quick minute later, Dean’s knuckles have gone white where he’s still holding onto the counter. 

“I hope you like it,” Cas says, looking positively giddy as he sets the covered takeout cup in front of Dean.

Dean releases his death-grip on the countertop and tries to smile encouragingly at Cas as he curves a palm around the cup. It’s hot against his skin. He grasps the lid and pulls it away, hoping his grimace at least passes for a smile. 

He peers at the drawing for ten seconds. Then looks up at Cas, who’s laughing quietly into a fist. 

“A...cat?” Because that’s what it is, unmistakably, complete with whiskers and tiny claws. 

“Do you get it?” Cas points to the drawing, pointing out the tiny feline scowl on the cat’s face. “You hate cats - but this cat hates you even more.” He’s stopped laughing, but still looks quite satisfied with his joke. He smirks smugly at the cappuccino, and doesn’t notice Dean’s expression.

Dean shakes his head to clear it of the confusion caused by the cat. It doesn’t help. Nothing makes sense anymore. He wants to rewind to the moment right before he revealed Cas’s latest masterpiece, because at least things made some sort of pseudo-sense then. He runs a hand over his face, which draws Cas’s attention.

“Dean?” In record time, Cas’s demeanor goes from proud to worried. “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he can’t let Cas think that. So he says the first thing that comes to his head, something that will clear up the situation and lead Dean back to a place where things make sense. 

“The _penis_ , Cas - what about the penis?”

So much for making sense. Mortified, he looks up at Cas. 

The barista is stunned silent, blue eyes wide, and cheeks turning redder by the second. “P-penis?” he repeats.

“Th-the penis you drew in my last cappuccino…” He trails off when Cas’s mouth drops open in ill-concealed horror. “...You didn’t draw a penis in my last cappuccino.”

“Dean,” Cas says slowly, “I would never draw the male genitalia in your cappuccino.” He sounds all at once scandalized, insulted, and supremely worried that Dean would think that. 

They stare at each other, both speechless and red in the face. Finally Dean drops his gaze to the cat in his coffee. He looks at the curl of the tail and the angle of the ears and the displeased scowl on the face and feels a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. “This is cute,” he says quietly, and he’s sincere this time. 

When he looks up tentatively, Cas is watching him. He no longer looks appalled, Dean notes with relief, but there’s confusion marring his expression.

“Why did you think I drew a… _penis_ in your cappuccino?”

The way Cas says this, like even the concept of _anyone_ drawing a penis in _anyone’s_ cappuccino has personally offended him, makes Dean realize the complete absurdity of the idea. He huffs a laugh over his penis-free cappuccino. “I honestly don’t know, Cas,” he says. “Thinking about it now… Man, do I feel dumb.”

Cas smiles at that, seeming puzzled but clearly amused, which Dean takes to mean he’s forgiven. They grin at each other for a few seconds, until Dean’s cheeks begin to grow alarmingly warm and he coughs and looks away.

“So uh, how did it get in my cup, then?”

Cas’s pleasant expression immediately grows dark. “I know exactly how,” he says dangerously, jaw clenching. “Gabriel.” 

It makes sense. Gabe has a history of toying with his little brother, and he was in the kitchen when the cappuccinos were being made; it would have been easy to swap a drink out at the last second.

Dean knows the thought should make him angry, understands now that Gabe orchestrated this whole strange saga and caused Dean several sleepless, miserable nights - but try as he might, Gabe’s offense only just vaguely registers, a paper cut on the scale of irritation, because Dean finds himself fascinated with the change in Cas’s mood, the expression on his face; the slow, methodical blink as Cas plans his revenge; the stern line of Cas’s lips, so different from his shy smiles -

“Don’t worry, Dean,” he says, staring stonily off into the distance, as if he’s using some sort of psychic connection to locate his brother. Dean traces the movement of Cas’s mouth with his eyes. “I’ll have a talk with him. What he did was very inappropriate - especially to a - a valued customer.” 

The last bit he stutters on, and he seems to come back to himself as a result. He directs an apologetic look toward Dean, his eyes soft. “We - _I_ wouldn’t want to lose you as a customer.” His correction seems like an admission of some sort, some milestone, something Significant. The tentative upward curl of his lip seems to suggest the same. So does the careful, quiet way in which he asks, “Were you very angry with me when you thought I drew it?” 

Dean considers this, though the answer is easy. “Nah,” he says, “‘Course not, Cas.” And it’s true - despite his confusion, despite the questions, he never once felt anger toward the man in front of him.

Cas leans his elbows on the counter, lingering at a distance just far enough that Dean can still believe to be platonic. “How did you react, then?” He blinks in curiosity, which is definitely not meant to be found attractive, except that Dean absolutely does.

He feels his throat go dry. “Uh, I was confused, mostly.”

“That’s understandable.”

Dean watches Cas’s hands, folding and unfolding nervously on the table. It must be an anxious habit - one that Dean has never noticed before and one that Dean wants more than anything to soothe.

Before he can think about it too much, he reaches out to touch just the tips of his fingers to Cas’s restless hands, to calm them. It’s barely a brush of skin, and lasts less than a second before Dean retreats, bringing his hand back to rest on the counter, but Cas’s hands go still almost immediately. His eyes are narrowed in confusion when Dean meets his gaze.

“Sorry,” Dean says softly, not sorry at all, but plenty fucking nervous.

Cas doesn’t say anything. He draws back, and Dean panics. “Did I - was that - weird?”

The barista leans against the counter behind him, where plates are stacked and a sink is kept spotless. He folds his arms and seems to consider the question. “A little,” he admits, “But only because it’s different.” He smiles. “Anyhow, it’s not nearly as weird as the male reproductive organ in a cup, so I think we’re even.”

“There you go making jokes again, Cas.” The affection Dean feels for Cas in that moment threatens to overwhelm him. “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

Cas looks up, tilts his head. “You don’t know me, though,” he points out. “Not really. Not enough to know that sending a man home with a caricature of a penis in his coffee is not my preferred way of communication.”

He states it not as an accusation but as a fact. Still, Dean deflates, opening his mouth to respond but finding nothing to justify himself. In the end, he ends up nodding slowly.

Cas shifts on his feet and tugs on his apron - yet another nervous tic that Dean has failed to notice before. Cas clears his throat before saying, “But it’s, uh, it’s not too late… to get to know me.” 

Dean’s heart is jumping in his throat. Before Cas can take it back, he says, maybe a tad bit too excitedly, “Yeah, okay.”

And suddenly Cas is closer, leaning his palms against the counter Dean is seated at. He looks at Dean through dark lashes and swallows before saying, “And obviously, simply seeing each other once a week hasn’t worked out, so…”

When Dean registers what Cas is trying to say, his mouth turns slack, and he’s sure a flush has spread across his face. “Holy shit. Cas. Are you asking me - ?”

“Out. Yes, I’m asking you out.” Cas’s face is tinged pink, but he’s smiling shyly. “On a date,” he adds, probably because Dean’s face clearly still flashes the error sign.

Dean’s thoughts have become one long circuit of “holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit,” but he’s able to mangle out one word: “ _Yes_.”

Cas laughs and runs a hand quickly over his eyes, seemingly in relief, and a thrill runs through Dean as he realizes that he can add that reaction to the list of things he’s learned and is learning about Cas. 

 

When Dean finishes his cappuccino - he and Cas share bashful smiles when Dean sets the cup down - Cas walks out from behind the counter to escort him to the door. 

“So chivalrous,” Dean jokes, but falls markedly silent when he feels Cas’s hand on his back. 

“You learn something new every day,” Cas replies, and he seems to be biting back a grin. He looks up to pull the door open for Dean, but then his expression flickers. “Well, well,” he says.

Gabe has arrived for work, it seems, because he stands at the entrance. The expression on his face seems to be torn between glee and something resembling fear. He settles for grinning, but from a distance out of Cas’s reach. “Hey, little bro.”

Dean catches the scowl on Cas’s face. It’s positively ferocious. “You abuse your powers as a small business owner,” is all he says.

Gabriel’s eyes flicker toward the space between his brother and Dean, where he can see Cas’s arm, still hovering lightly near Dean’s back. His posture relaxes, and he saunters forward, past Dean and into the shop. “Can’t have worked out too badly,” he says lightly. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” Cas snips, before opening the door for Dean and following after him.

Dean ducks out of the sight of the coffee shop door and turns toward him, pulling his jacket tighter. “I’m not going to pretend that wasn’t totally hot.” He manages to keep his voice even, but his cheeks are warm. “I’ve never seen you get more than mildly irritated with anyone.”

Cas steps closer. Dean takes in a breath. 

“I think you’ll learn that I’m more than just a barista, Dean,” Cas says, peering at his dress shoes. “Occasionally I’m an abused little sibling.”

“And a joker, too, apparently,” Dean says, smiling, because it seems like everything that falls out of Cas’s mouth lately makes him laugh.

“I’m just more myself around you.” Cas immediately colors, as if the admission took even him by surprise. He turns his head away from Dean, looking at something in the distance and blinking furiously.

Dean’s throat suddenly feels tight. Feeling at once humbled and bold, he steps forward, gently curls a hand around Cas's arm, and presses his lips high on Cas’s cheek. “Sorry for thinking you drew the penis,” he says softly, which he should have known would kind of ruin the mood - 

But Dean weighs the moment as a triumph because it steals away the embarrassment on Cas’s face and replaces it with genuine, unabashed amusement. Cas laughs, turning the full force of his smile on Dean before gently gripping the back of Dean’s neck and pulling him forward for a chaste kiss, lips warm and soft as they move against Dean's.

It’s short and decidedly innocent for a man of Dean’s previous dealings, but it still makes his knees feel weak. When he pulls back, he finds his hands hooked in the strings of Cas’s apron, and Cas's lightly on his waist. His voice is low when he tells Cas, “I’m learning more about you every second,” and as Cas’s expression suddenly turns from affectionate to stunningly mischievous, he decides that it’s not such a bad thing, to have so much to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days ago, I was hit hard by a writing bug. I was only planning on writing about a 1k-2k ficlet, but what can I say? The penis ran away from me, and I had to keep chasing after it for a couple thousand words more. 
> 
> I originally planned for it not only to be short, but also immensely silly - but somewhere after 2k, I was hit hard by Dean feels. You can probably pinpoint where I just said, "fuck it," and gave up my original intentions. 
> 
> Regardless of the weird combination of cappuccino!penises + feelings, I hope you enjoyed it. This is my first (posted) m/m fic, and my first ever completed Destiel fic. Thanks to all of you read and showed your support. I hope to be around for a while.


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